Chapter 6 - The Camera in the Hallway
The building manager sent me a preservation notice the next morning. He could not release footage without the proper request, he explained, but he had secured the files so they would not be overwritten.
Nina submitted the request through the building’s legal department. I expected to see Lorraine and Tabitha arriving before dawn. I did not expect to see Garrett waiting in the lobby twenty minutes earlier, carrying the mixing bowl.
The footage showed him entering at 4:41 a.m. He spoke with the night concierge, who handed him a small paper bag. Garrett looked inside, nodded, and walked toward the elevator. At 4:52, Lorraine and Tabitha entered through the side door with the children.
At 5:03, Garrett appeared in the hallway outside our apartment. The camera captured him glancing at the lens before he knocked.
“He knew he was being recorded,” I said.
Nina watched the clip twice. “He may have known there was a camera. That doesn’t prove intent beyond the visible actions. But it helps establish timing.”
The concierge was named Arturo. He agreed to speak with Nina and me in the building office.
“Mr. Hale asked whether the hallway camera recorded sound,” Arturo said. “I told him no. Then he asked if I could let his family in through the service entrance.”
“What did you say?” Nina asked.
“I said residents needed to authorize guests. He told me his wife was expecting them.”
I felt a coldness that had nothing to do with ice water. “Did he tell you I would be asleep?”
Arturo nodded. “He said you were a light sleeper and might make a fuss if you saw them.”
Nina wrote this down. “Did he mention why they were arriving early?”
“He said it was a surprise.”
The phrase sat between us, harmless on its surface and ugly beneath it.
Back in the apartment, I replayed the footage on my laptop. Garrett’s posture had been relaxed in the lobby. He had smiled at Arturo. He had not looked like a man improvising after a bad decision. He had looked like someone executing instructions.
My phone rang. It was Garrett.
“Nina told you about the footage?” he asked.
“She told me what I saw.”
“You’re turning a family surprise into a criminal investigation.”
“Did you know they were coming before I woke up?”
“Yes.”
“Did you plan to throw water on me?”
He was silent for four seconds.
“I planned to wake you,” he said.
“With ice water.”
“Mom said you wouldn’t get up otherwise.”
The admission hurt more than the denial would have. He was not claiming innocence. He was handing his mother the steering wheel and asking me to blame the car.
“Did you put the schedule in Tabitha’s bag?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have a photograph.”
“A photograph of a list doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves there was a list.”
“You’re obsessed.”
“No. I’m finally paying attention.”
He ended the call.
That afternoon, Nina sent me a secure link to upload the footage. She also asked me to photograph every room and record the condition of Garrett’s belongings before he moved out. I walked through the apartment with my phone, documenting the broken lamp Lorraine had knocked over during her last visit, the scratches on the guest-room door from Tabitha’s children, and the water stain on the bedroom rug.
The apartment had always been my refuge. Now it felt like a crime scene made of ordinary objects.
I found a second clue inside the mixing bowl Garrett had left in the sink. Beneath the rim was a narrow strip of blue tape, the kind our building used to mark maintenance requests. Written on it were three words: Monday, release funds.
I photographed that too.
When Garrett returned, he saw the bowl on the counter.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“You brought it here.”
“It’s mine.”
“Then take it when you leave.”
His eyes moved to the camera on my phone. “You’re documenting everything now?”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the doorway. “You know, Paige, sometimes people create the betrayal they’re afraid of.”
May you like
“Sometimes people call the camera a betrayal because it records what they did.”
He looked away first.
